“If you mean to imply she couldn’t do it, you’re daft.” Mr. Evans emerged from the history aisle, shooting a glare at Mr. Stokes from over his thick glasses. “Miss Bennett could do the job of any man, and far better at that.”

Mr. Stokes scoffed.

His dubious response, as much as Mr. Evans’s commendation of her abilities, notched her chin a little higher. “I’ll do it.”

Mr. Stokes’s forehead creases deepened. “You will?”

“Don’t act as though you’ve competition for the position, Mr. Stokes.” Mr. Evans smiled at Grace and melted back among his books.

“Very well,” Mr. Stokes said. “Go to the warden’s post this afternoon and inquire within.” He cleared his throat. “And I’d like another book if you would recommend one.”

Later that day, after Grace’s shift had ended, she did as Mr. Stokes said and inquired within the warden’s post. Several days later, she was awarded a tin hat with a white W painted on it to denote her role as a warden, a whistle, a gas rattle to alert the public in the event of a gas attack, an orange bound copy of the Air Raid Warden’s Training Manual as well as a CD mask. It was the latter that dismayed her the most, for the professional grade gas mask was far larger than her current one, having large glass eyes and a filter that was made to accommodate a microphone. How would such a monstrosity ever fit neatly in her handbag?

So it was that she ended up on her first shift four nights later alongside Mr. Stokes with her mask strung about her shoulder in its ungainly box rather than with a smart handbag at her side. She wore a light coat against the chill April carried in, and the blasted string refused to remain set against her shoulder. If nothing else, the metal ARP badge she’d pinned to her lapel helped tether the string into place.

By the time they stepped out of the immaculate office-like interior of the warden’s post, the blackout was in full effect. The moon’s face was nearly completely hidden, and any light it might have offered was rendered opaque with a veil of heavy clouds.

It was far too dark to see anything.

Grace’s palms prickled with sweat despite the night chill.

“Come on then.” Mr. Stokes’s steps strode confidently ahead.

Grace cautiously inched forward.

“Miss Bennett, we can’t linger in front of the post all night.” Impatience edged Mr. Stokes’s tone.

Regret lanced through her. She never ought to have signed on with the Air Raid Precautions unit. How could she face every night in pitch-darkness?

She shuffled closer to the sound of Mr. Stokes’s voice.